


Happy Middle

by gonergone



Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/pseuds/gonergone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes time to choose, Hiro will always pick the real, every day love of Nowaki over the dream of Akihiko loving him back.  That doesn't make it easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Middle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karanguni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karanguni/gifts).



> “There are no happy endings.  
> Endings are the saddest part,  
> So just give me a happy middle  
> And a very happy start.”  
> ― Shel Silverstein, _Every Thing on It_

Sometimes, worn out from the endless cycle of school and activities, Hiro would fall asleep under the trees and sky in their secret clearing, lulled by the comforting scratch of Usami's pencil. Those may have been the only times he ever really let himself relax, when everything felt right in his world, and he could close his eyes and feel leaves falling down to brush his cheeks as he drifted off. 

As an adult, in the dark days when Nowaki had abandoned him for America and Hiro wasn't sure he was ever going to come back, on those awful nights that went on forever and he couldn't sleep, Hiro would close his eyes and remember the peace of the forest clearing, the gentle breeze that brushed his hair back, and the overwhelming security of knowing Usami was there, keeping watch over him. Despite how complicated things had gotten between them afterward, that memory, that one clean, pure feeling, was something he'd always cherished. His private treasure.

*

There were times that Hiro would get so caught up in work, in grading the sophomoric essays of his students, in trying to write something – anything that would qualify as something he could publish to help himself on the tenure track – that he'd forget to eat, forget to go home, even, and look up to find darkness had fallen and the day had completely gone. It always took a few moments for his brain to shift gears, to pull itself out of the focused bubble. He'd stretch, listening to his joints popping, and that would be when he'd notice the empty tea cups by his elbow and wonder exactly how many times Nowaki had been in and out of the office that day. _Miyagi_ certainly hadn't brought him tea. 

It had pissed Hiro off at first, the way Nowaki insinuated himself into every crack in Hiro's life, until there was no place left for Hiro to hide. He never demanded anything outright; he just kept pushing in and in until Hiro gave him whatever he wanted, like water wearing away stone. 

*

"Don't you think?" Nowaki was watching him over the rim of his bowl again, a sure sign that he'd said something that actually required a response. 

Hiro's fingers stilled over the laptop's keyboard as he strained for a hint of what they had been discussing – really, what Nowaki had been discussing, and Hiro had been grunting along with at what seemed like appropriate intervals. Hiro hadn't even realized he had drifted out of the conversation this time; he had only opened his laptop to make sure he'd saved the latest version of his submission, but his eyes had immediately caught one typo, then another, and… well. There really was no excuse. Sometimes he was an asshole, and he was only too relieved that Nowaki seemed to like that sort of thing. 

He still had no idea why.

"Er," he stalled, flushing, and saw Nowaki try to hide his smirk behind his hand. He scowled, snapping the laptop shut and pushing it away. Even when Nowaki was completely in the right he ended up pissing Hiro off, and they both knew it. "What did you say?" he prompted sullenly, sipping his own cold tea.

"I thought that we should do something special to celebrate when you're finally finished with this paper," Nowaki told him. He had pushed his empty bowl aside and leaned forward on his elbows, regarding Hiro closely. "We've never been away together."  
That much was true. Hiro shrugged uncomfortably. "You probably won't be able to get away." Nowaki's residency schedule at the hospital was worse than his own.

"I'm due a break," Nowaki said quietly, and Hiro wondered if that was something else he had been told.

"Right," Hiro agreed automatically, trying to ignore the spear of panic that had pierced his gut. The idea of going away together – it was stupid, it was _so stupid_ , because they lived together, shared a bed, shared _everything_ , really, so why did it make him feel so nervous, like this was the edge of a precipice that he was about to step over. Going away together was something that couples did, real couples, couples who were – he swallowed hard, unable to look Nowaki in the eye – committed. Which they were. _Obviously_. So why did the idea make him feel so trapped?

*

Hiro had always loved Usami's hands. Hiro's own hands were thick and blunt; clumsy. Usami's were small and clever, and impossible to ignore, considering they were always in motion. Hiro had spent a lot of time thinking about those hands on him, touching him, anywhere. Everywhere. He was jealous of the way they curled around Usami's pencils, the way they held his notebooks protectively. So carefully. Hiro wanted to be held like that – as if he was something special, precious. No one else held things like Usami did. Hiro thought no one ever would.

When he'd finally experienced it, the feeling of Usami's hands was the one memory he'd never give up, never surrender. Not even to Nowaki, the only one who ever loved him back.

*

Hiro had spent years cutting out all reminders of Usami from his life, but the truth was that his entire academic career is based on Usami, on ideas from his books, on ideas from _him_. He had gone into research and teaching because thinking about those ideas, writing about them, talking about them with other students, and then his own students, had been the one way he'd been able to feel close to Usami. He'd felt like he was touching him, like Usami was there, nodding along. It was ridiculous. Usami would almost certainly not agree with his interpretation of his books, of his characters. He'd call Hiro an idiot and look away, his expression cool, contemptuous. It made Hiro wonder if he was a fraud.

In his more melancholy moods, it made him sure he was one. 

Sometimes he wondered, if he had never known Usami, what would his life look like? Would he even work in academia? Would he be a businessman, a doctor, a lawyer? He'd achieved things in his career at the University, certainly, but he'd never know what he might've been capable of otherwise, and that thought rankled more and more as the years went by. Even six years after Usami had last touched him, he was still the biggest thread running through Hiro's life. It wasn't fair.

His paper began on uses of metaphor in Japanese modern novels, but he'd decided at the last minute to edit his conclusion to call out modern novelists for being clumsy and inelegant. It was the sort of thing that would help the piece be published, he knew, because it gave a hint of controversy and beyond every other thing, academics liked nothing better than to fight amongst themselves. He knew well enough that Usami would never take it personally; Usami was impervious to general slights because he never recognized they were meant for him. It was one of many things that had always driven Hiro mad.

He lifted his fingers off the laptop keys, watching the blinking curser for a moment. It didn't seem possible, but he thought he was done. He'd reread it so many times it was mostly gibberish to him, so he sent it off quickly before he could start to second-guess himself. Stretching, he followed the smell of cooking fish into the kitchen.

Nowaki was standing over the stove, diligently watching over the fish. Hiro started getting dishes down from the cabinets. He could hear the click of the burner being turned off and the beep of the rice cooker. He was reaching for glasses when he felt long arms wrap around his waist. 

"There you are."

"What do you mean? I've been here all day." Hiro couldn't reach the glasses without standing on tiptoe, which he refused to do with Nowaki standing right there. He hated being short.

"You've been distracted all day," Nowaki countered, his hands sliding forward to rest on Hiro's hips. "That's not the same."

"Feeling neglected, are you?"

Nowaki leaned forward to kiss the back of Hiro's neck. "Your work is important, and it needs to come first. But you're not working right now." Hiro couldn't not tip his head to the side, giving him more space to drop kisses onto. His neck was his most sensitive area, and Nowaki knew it, knew exactly what to do despite the fact that dinner was going to get cold while they were standing there entwined. 

Nowaki's hand were nimble on his belt, making quick work of it before Hiro even realized what was happening. Doctor's hands, Hiro thought vaguely. He never fumbled with things the way that Hiro did, his large clumsy hands making a mess as often as not. 

All of his thoughts were wiped away as Nowaki's hand found the head of his cock, already mostly hard. He could feel Nowaki's smile against his neck. 

"Well, so what?" Hiro muttered, swallowing hard as Nowaki stroked him lightly.

"It's just very flattering how quickly you respond to me," he assured Hiro, squeezing once to prove his point. "I like knowing I'm the only one who can do this to you."

Nowaki pressed close enough so that Hiro could feel the hardness pressing into his lower back, both of them moving to push down Hiro's trousers.

"The only one," Nowaki repeated as he nipped at Hiro's neck.

*

The thing Hiro had never really considered when he decided to become a professor was that he'd have to teach. Teaching was horrible, the worst kind of torture. His students were idiots who couldn't understand the simplest thematic elements and assumed everything meant sex. He spent most of his time despising them and throwing things at them. Most of the time he missed. 

He was angry when he first heard that his nickname among the students was "Devil KIHJUI", but after a while he realized it was a good thing: let them be forewarned before they set foot in his classroom. It made things easier all around. 

Miyagi didn't really seem to care what Hiro's teaching methods were, so long as students managed to learn something. Judging by their exams, Hiro privately thought they were incapable of learning anything at all, but he still grimly prepared for his lectures the way some people prepared for a siege. 

His students always complained that his expectations were too high, but the truth was that he kept them abysmally – painfully – low. Hiro didn't think it was his fault at all if none of students could be bothered learning the subtle hues and rhythms of literature. 

He stood at the front of the room, glaring at them as they found their seats in the large lecture hall. Once he was made a full professor he'd teach more upper-level courses, less of the introductory mess that only really served to separate the students who were truly interested in studying literature from the idiots who were actually bent on learning other disciplines, like mathematics or economics. He had no time for them.

Miyagi was territorial over Basho and the other classical haiku poets, so Hiro always taught modern poets instead. 

He was writing on the whiteboard when he heard talking. He threw the eraser without even turning around, knowing that even if it didn't hit its intended target it would silence them all. Devil KIHIH strikes again, he smiled to himself.

*

The paper had been a black hole in his life that had sucked up every free moment. It felt odd not to have the stressful weight of it bearing down on him all the time, and he was even able to go sit in a coffee shop with Nowaki and not have his laptop out. Nowaki was smiling at him across the table, his ankle determinately bending around Hiro's to pull his legs into his lap.

Hiro blushed. "People can see that, you know."

"I know." Nowaki looked at his steadily, making Hiro swallow and glance away. Nowaki's intensity overwhelmed him sometimes, especially when they were out in public.

"What happens next? Will you start another paper?"

Hiro sighed. "Not yet. The journal will send it out for peer review, and then I'll be asked to make even more revisions. Then, if I'm lucky, it will be slated for publication and I can move on to something else. The university wants at least one more journal article this year." He frowned into his coffee cup. 

"I should've known I was setting myself up for disappointment, choosing such a smart partner," Nowaki teased. "Even when you're there, your mind is a million miles away."

"It's just until I'm offered tenure," Hiro told him, even though Nowaki knew it as well as he did. "I'll still have to publish, of course, but I'll have proven myself already."

"I know. I do know, really. I don't begrudge you any of it, just so we're clear. I want you to have everything you want."

"I do. I don't tell you that enough, but I have everything I want already, nearly. The professorship will come in time."

Nowaki grinned. "Good. I guess it's only fair anyway – I'm going to be working long hours as a doctor."

"With any luck we'll both be too busy to miss each other." 

Nowaki leaned across the table and took his hand, squeezing once. "I always miss you."

Hiro blushed harder, lowering his head and staring into his coffee cup. He both loved and hated it when Nowaki said things like that, and he never knew how to respond. Instead, he squeezed Nowaki's hand back, and saw Nowaki smile out of the corner of his eye.

**Author's Note:**

> You asked for discussion of the Kamijou/Akihiko friendship in your request, and I'm afraid that little bit grabbed me. Everyone has ghosts from the past that they can't shake, and Hiro is just about at the point where he can really be friends with Akihiko without it stirring up a lot of things he'd rather forget.


End file.
